"You can use mine," he sounds tired and miserable by the idea, which means- yes, he is smiling, in his own way. "'Til we figure out if you're good at it."
Making Daryl smile always feels like winning a contest you didn't know you'd entered. And it's so easy sometimes - for Beth, at least. She has bleary memories of lying in the back of a truck, or van, or something, blood pouring down her head, and just having her eyes open had been enough.
Before she thinks twice - she never thinks twice about this kind of thing - she goes a step closer to him and hugs him tight. Just for a second or two. "Thanks."
It's wrong-- not bad, but backwards-- because he's supposed to be comforting her, right? He hadn't even tried, known that was beyond his feeble powers. But here she is, trying to hug him and he's not sure why. He doesn't know why he puts his huge, ungainly arm around her narrow shoulders, gives a light squeeze. He just does, and hopes she doesn't mind it.
"C'mon," he says, moving out of it just as soon as its settled. "Before Maggie notices you're gone."
He smells like old cigarettes and sweat and leather, and the shape of him is hard and weary. It's nice - familiar.
"I'll tell her we were hunting," she tells him, as she walks over to the ladder down. It's not a bad lie, really; Daryl's just promised to take her, and for all Maggie knows, they might've started right away. "Are my eyes red?"
"Not much," Daryl answers. Beth is always slight and light in complexion-- any small change is easily noticeable, but so much so that it usually means nothing. Beth burns and scars easily, her eyes go red, she blushes. It means nothing. "Don't sweat it. Maybe I told you a sad story."
"The saddest story," she agrees, her boots plinking lightly on the metal ladder steps as she clambers down. "And I was allergic to a tree in top of it."
She's never been allergic to anything in her life, but that could change at any moment. Who knows?
He pauses, squinting up into the last of the sunlight, before shaking his head. "Nah. First lesson, don't tell lies," he says, making his way to the ladder, "you'll just get caught for."
She drops from the ladder to the ground, staring back up at him. He can loom over the edge of a building all he wants, it doesn't make him scary. "Texting you didn't count."
He stands over her, hands still folded. "Ain't arguin'. You know I'm right."
He pulls his gear off his shoulder, crossbow included, and holds it over the edge, giving Beth ample time to prepare herself before dropping it. "Catch. You're huntin'."
"Got it!" It isn't loud, just carrying enough for him to hear, as Daryl's stuff lands heavily in her arms. Beth slings the crossbow over one shoulder and watches the area around them as he climbs down.
They've been lucky so far - if she's willing to admit it to herself, she knows she's been lucky so far - but there are walkers out there. Maybe there's better hunting, their kind of hunting, someplace else. When he gets down to the ground, she asks, "What're we hunting for?"
He wouldn't have thrown it if he hadn't had absolute faith in her catching it, but it's still nice to see. Something like a smile hangs on his face, before flickering into disappearance under cloud cover.
"I dunno," Daryl says, skipping rungs on the latter at a time, landing flat-footed on crumbled macadam. "What'll make your sister believe that's what we were doin' the whole damn time?"
"Anything." She's not gonna catch Beth lying to her, and if she does, Beth'll make sure Daryl's part stays out of it. (Well, she'll try, anyway. When Maggie's pissed off, it's like trying to tell a hurricane which direction to spin toward. The hurricane isn't about to listen.) "If we were tracking, that'd take all day - can't do much if we can't find any tracks."
Nothing but walkers walking. Or...shambling, she guesses.
Daryl hums. She's right, it doesn't need to be impressive, but for himself, he'd like the catch to be something a little bigger than rats or a squirrel. There are boar and deer in the area, but both of those would leave them skulking into the night to bring back. Maybe if they got a lot of squirrels...
"Let's check traps," he murmurs. "You can re-set 'em and help me find 'em."
He knows where they are. But she should be able to figure it out by the prints leading to them, his and others.
"Are there any nearby?" Beth figures the answer has to be yes, since this is where he's been hunting in general - and that's why she's already looking toward the ground, heading toward areas that aren't old blacktop. If Daryl makes her figure it all out herself, she's going to have an easier time checking the dirt.
"Yup," Daryl says, and points north. It's the only hint he'll give her. There are prints on the tarmac road, but they're harder to find than most, and he's in a kindly mood.
He'd been surprised, when they'd gotten this far up north, how regular the game was. From his upbringing, he'd figured the north was an entire different world.
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Before she thinks twice - she never thinks twice about this kind of thing - she goes a step closer to him and hugs him tight. Just for a second or two. "Thanks."
Not just for the use of his bow.
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"C'mon," he says, moving out of it just as soon as its settled. "Before Maggie notices you're gone."
He didn't tell her. You're welcome, Beth.
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"I'll tell her we were hunting," she tells him, as she walks over to the ladder down. It's not a bad lie, really; Daryl's just promised to take her, and for all Maggie knows, they might've started right away. "Are my eyes red?"
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She's never been allergic to anything in her life, but that could change at any moment. Who knows?
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He pulls his gear off his shoulder, crossbow included, and holds it over the edge, giving Beth ample time to prepare herself before dropping it. "Catch. You're huntin'."
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They've been lucky so far - if she's willing to admit it to herself, she knows she's been lucky so far - but there are walkers out there. Maybe there's better hunting, their kind of hunting, someplace else. When he gets down to the ground, she asks, "What're we hunting for?"
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"I dunno," Daryl says, skipping rungs on the latter at a time, landing flat-footed on crumbled macadam. "What'll make your sister believe that's what we were doin' the whole damn time?"
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Nothing but walkers walking. Or...shambling, she guesses.
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"Let's check traps," he murmurs. "You can re-set 'em and help me find 'em."
He knows where they are. But she should be able to figure it out by the prints leading to them, his and others.
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"Do they have quail up here?" Her voice has shifted softer, curious.
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He'd been surprised, when they'd gotten this far up north, how regular the game was. From his upbringing, he'd figured the north was an entire different world.